Mom and Dad and the Camera

On a chilly spring day in 1955, my family drives to West Point to watch the cadets march. My sisters talk excitedly as we travel from Hastings-on-Hudson. I sit between them on the back seat.

"How long will it be to get there?" Winnie asks.

"About an hour," says Daddy.

I watch as the girders of the Washington Bridge flicker by the windows. The rhythm lulls me to sleep.

I wake up as Daddy winds our station wagon along a tree-lined road as we approach West Point Naval Academy. When he parks, we all emerge from the car.

Mommy combs my hair and straightens my hat and jumpsuit. My sisters check themselves over to make sure they are presentable. Sharon takes my hand as we begin our trek to the visitor center, but soon hands me over to Daddy to carry.

"What's that big building, Mommy?" I ask as we approach.

"It's the visitor's center, Skeezix."

Daddy hands me over to Mommy, who puts me down on the pavement and holds my hand securely. He opens the wide glass door for us. As we enter, Mommy's heels and my sisters' saddle shoes tap-tap-tap on the marble floor. I stomp-step-stomp to make my shoes do the same. Voices echo in the crowded hall.

"Albert, where do we go from here?" asks Mommy.

"Through those doors over there. They lead to the walkway."

Battle Monument looms ahead. As we come closer, I see a beautiful green lady on top of a tall shaft.

"Who is that lady, Mommy? Is she an angel?"

"Let's go see," she replies, and she heads for a brass plaque on the base of the monument.

"That is Lady Fame! She is also called Victory."

"She has wings!" I exclaim. What is does she have in her hand?"

"It's a wreath, a laurel wreath. You know, like wreaths we hang at Christmas time, only this one is made of laurel leaves." Mommy answers.

I notice my sisters and father somberly reading something on the base of the monument.

"What are they looking at, Mommy?"

"Those are names of brave soldiers who fought in the Civil War," she says.

"Civil War? What's a civil war?"

"A war is when groups of people fight with each other. The Civil War happened a long time ago. It happened because some people wanted other people to work for them for nothing, and other people thought that was terrible and wanted to stop them." says Mommy.

"Oh.” The concept is beyond me.

When Mommy puts me down, I approach the monument and run my fingers along the letters. The stone is cool and smooth and rough at the same time. It feels good on my hands. I like tracing the shapes of the letters.

"Jeannie, listen to this," says Daddy as he reads the brochure, "620,000 Americans died in the Civil War."

"Oh my, I knew many died, but 620,000!" Mommy says. "It is so sad."

"We need to move on to the parade route," Daddy says. Mom calls my sisters over, and we proceed along the path. Daddy picks me up and we bounce along swiftly.

"Come on Jeannie! Come on girls! We don't want to be late!"

While the somber first movement of “West Point” plays, Daddy finds us a place in front of the crowd along the parade route. People understand that his young children would not be able to see from further back.

Daddy holds me in front with my back against his torso to give me a good view of the parade.

Here come the cadets in their crisp gray uniforms and tall black plumed hats with black straps across their upper chins. rifles held up by white-gloved hands, steps so precise they make barely a sound!

The Marines proceed slowly in time with the music, then faster as the music speeds up into a march.

The crowd stands in awe. Some people lean their heads together and whisper among themselves. Others salute. Children point excitedly, sometimes chided by their parents.

I am fascinated by how silently the soldiers march. I love the slight jiggle of the delicate feathers of their plumed hats. They look like toy soldiers, almost like the ones we put out at Christmas.

Before Daddy knows it, Mommy brings our camera to her face as she obliviously backs up into the line of cadets! As they march around her, she snaps the only picture she ever takes of her husband laughing.

***

When I was a child my family moved often. In my story, I share that experience; what it was like and how we coped.

But my story is not just for those who share my experience of growing up in a highly mobile family. It's for anyone who's human.

See all posts by Caroni Lombard →